


Existence Is a Play on Words

by waterloggedroots



Series: Our Universe [1]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Angst with a sad ending, F/F, Gem War, Gen, How Do I Tag, Implied Amethyst/Pearl (Steven Universe), Implied Pearl/Rose Quartz (Steven Universe), Inferiority Complex, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Pearl (Steven Universe), Pearl Belonged To White Diamond Theory, Pearl has PTSD, Post-Gem War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Gem War, Rebellion, Renegade Pearl, Self-Sacrifice, Self-Worth Issues, Sorry Not Sorry, Violence, White Pearl Theory, ask to tag, gems existed during the pre-Columbian era and were viewed as deities by humans, heavily relies on headcanon/theory, if you squint i guess you can see it, it can be seen as romantic or platonic, pearl wanted to rebel before she met rose, since no one really knows yet what happened pre-Steven, the war descriptions sorta get graphic, their relationship is defined as romantic (at least in pearl’s eyes) but isn't explored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:53:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterloggedroots/pseuds/waterloggedroots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaking. Bruised. Battered. Every atom of her being wanting to stop, to rest, to forget. But she <i>can't</i>.</p><p>War is cold; unforgiving. There's no <i>break</i> in a <i>war</i>.</p><p>The main objective; Love. Protect. Succeed. Rose Quartz over everything.</p><p>Rose Quartz matters; <i>she</i> is not the one who matters.</p><p>[In other words, welcome to Angst City.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Existence Is a Play on Words

**Author's Note:**

> it wasn't intentional, but I'd be lying if i said i wasn't partly inspired by Pearl’s song "It’s Over"
> 
> inspiration: <https://twitter.com/zlzydn8884/status/613203697925881856?s=01> (cartoon blood warning)

Emergence. Existence. Coming into being. White. Pure. Ivory. Colorless.

Rules. Orders. Obedience. Compliance. Blind submission; made to serve. Every part of her bared before her alabaster Diamond, the gem whom she calls master; mistress.

Dainty. Elegant. Graceful. Soft footsteps waltzing across the floor, long satin silk sweeping against her legs, glittering fabric adorning her chest. Existing to please; pleasing to exist.

Long. Silver. _Sharp._ A cutting edge. Holograms, shards of blue light shattering. Images of herself, of past forms, breaking like glass. Long fingers wrapping around a golden grip, delicate hands calloused. Skin built for show, not for wear.

Hidden. Secrecy. Closed doors. The cover of night. A pearl out in the open; a knight pulling the strings. Just a slave, in the eyes of her Homeworld. Unbeknownst to her kind, a fighter; an individual.

Longing. Fingers itching to do more. Leave all the rules behind, everything she has ever known. Status but an old, well-worn title, no longer relevant. No more just a fragile ballerina. A fighter she is, but a lone ant among giants.

Blossoming pink. Blush rose. A quartz. Not just any quartz; one of Pink Diamond's own. Highest of her class, a master of her trade. Her fingers, itching once more, a spark flaring to life in her chest; in her core; in her mind.

Overture. Entente. Potential. Passion. Resistance. Blades slashing through the air once more, the light no longer blue. Gems clattering against ivory tile, physical forms vanishing in bursts of dust and bright light.

Building. Growing. Amassing. Staggering. A number that grew in size, in breadth. Unexpected. Disapproval; the cold fury of the Diamonds. She rights herself, regains her balance; determined. Images of a fight long behind; she stands alone, the fingers of another interlaced with her own. Lips locked; cheeks glowing. Pink.

Shards stained pink; shards of a Diamond.

Blinded by love. Eyes wide; she wasn't prepared.

Bloodshed. Cold, unimaginable, overwhelming destruction. Static. Trauma. Ears ringing, bleeding, with the unmistakable sounds of war. Fighting to live; living to fight. Shards of those who once stood against them; shards of those who once stood _with_ them. Passion, a driving force to protect. A shield disregarded. Clashing, the bite of sword against skin; the piercing ring of metal hitting metal. Anguish, the burning pain of steel ran through her form. Dissipation. Reformation. Repeated, a thousand times over.

Death. Decease. Bereavement. Oblivion. Years, decades, centuries; a millennium. The death toll, rising. The coldness of a lone quartz gem, cradled in the arms of the first to follow her. Once. Petty, against a number bordering millions.

Formless. Pristine. Ovoid. Worried eyes, a guardian angel. Protection against those who wish her shattered, wish her dead. No matter. _She_ is not the one who matters.

Animated. Robotic. The screams of slayed enemies falling upon deaf ears. Sightless to all but the main objective. Love. Protect. Succeed.

Shaking. Bruised. Battered. Every atom of her being wanting to stop, to rest, to forget. But she _can't_.

Love. Protect. Succeed. Rose Quartz over everything. The deaths, touching the trillions; so do hers.

Fatigue. Exhaustion. Body aching with the unfamiliar feeling, straining muscles far overworked. She needs a break; a minute to rest. But war is cold; unforgiving. There’s no _break_ in a _war_.

Agony. A sensation she's intimately familiar with. The ground beneath her palms wet, pools of cerulean blue cradling her shaking fingers. Cold steel piercing her trembling form in too many places to keep track of, but she _holds_ , clinging to reality. Clinging to her goal. Love. Protect. Succeed. Fingertips digging into the ground, almost painfully so.

The breaking point. A crackling noise— in her gem? in her mind? Apathy; there's only one who matters. The battle is far from over, but she feels herself slipping.

Crack. Damage. A pain unbeknownst to her, different from the pain her body can experience. Radiating through her core; somehow her form feels it, but in a different way. Painful vibrations buzzing through every extremity, base to tip. Knees buckling. She hears a sound from above her; a gentle wetness pooling around her gem. A quartz, crying— so unusual in and of itself, especially over a pearl. But these tears are different.

Whole again. Healed. Back in combat. Told not to risk her life like that again, not for _her._ A laugh. You're all that matters, Rose. Merely risks taken in the name of freedom. Self-identity. Love.

At last, it's near the end. The Homeworld gems are retreating. Even as metal clashes with metal, she heard the static in her mind. Feels it. Her mind's loosening grasp. Oblivion. She shakes her head, keeps fighting. She keeps going, screaming, crying, killing, dying; until... She feels a hand on her shoulder. Rose's. The Homeworld gems are gone, they've been gone. Insistence. No, no, they're still _here_... Rose screams, pulls up her shield—

A blinding light, accompanied by a sound. ...A song? Music; reedy, the eerie vibration of structured wind, notes resonating in the air. A hauntingly familiar melody.

Her mind is still weak, but stronger. Warm arms embrace her; she opens eyes she hadn't realized were squeezed shut. The battlefield, empty of movement. Of life. Billowing smoke plaguing the air. But the ships; they're gone. No movement in the sky. No sound, apart from her own breathing.

She's safe. _They_ are safe. Rose; herself; one other. The fusion, Garnet. Everyone else? Rose shakes her head sadly. The price of freedom— the others were free. Free from Homeworld, free from rule, free from tyranny; free, ergo, of their sanity.

Freedom. Reinvention. Here on Earth, free to do what they please. More than once, she becomes profoundly familiar with the sensation of meshing her light with another; feels the energy of being more powerful, more _whole_ , than she could ever imagine to be on her own. She feels what it's like to be a quartz; huge, strong, complete. More than once, she feels herself yearning to be Rainbow once more. But Rose is already complete; she doesn't feel the same pulling, as _she_ does. She knows; Rose feels it when they become one. But, as much as she longs to be closer than skin on skin, she doesn't dare burden Rose like that. She knows Rose feels _her_ , too. It's evident in the way those beautiful, dark eyes gaze at her when they're two. So full of what’s left unsaid. Even as Rose tries, tries to show her how to see her own worth. Fruitless.

With the Homeworld threat behind them, they make their stake on the Earth, lay their claim on the land they fought so hard to protect. Indigenous life passing them by. Creatures big and small, coming and going, but they stay constant. Steady. Predictable. Familiar.

Change. _Human_ life; _it_ grows stronger, makes itself the dominant species. The gems stand on the sidelines, interfering only enough to keep the human race alive. The humans see them as goddesses; deities; otherworldly celestials. When the cold, the surrounding environment, threatens to snuff out human life, it’s the tall, feminine, rose-colored divine that introduces them to _fire._ When their lives are threatened by other forces, predators stronger than themselves, Rose shows them how to make _weapons_ ; rough, primitive, but they work. She shows them how to build shelters, how to craft objects that enrich their lives.

Rose mingles sometimes, loving how they look, how they operate. Disgust. She refuses to entertain such a pitiful species. Their brains are underdeveloped, their lives short. They start out as tiny, defenseless things, taking a few decades to grow and mature into something that might actually stand a chance at life, but die thereafter. She doesn't like how Rose fawns over them.

Nevertheless, they grow smarter, given Rose's guiding hand. They evolve, augment; they become more refined, developing something resembling a crude civilization. Rose's infatuation grows; she starts to _love_ them.

Confusion. She doesn't understand it; she doesn't understand Rose's behavior. What's the purpose, getting to know something that dies before you can bat an eye?

Hundreds of years pass. Aside from Rose’s growing interest in humankind, they tend to their new duties as protectors of the planet Earth; fending off invading forces, capturing any corrupt creatures they happen upon, destroying their physical forms, bubbling away their gems. Somewhere along the way, per a vision from Garnet, they find themselves inside the Prime Kindergarten, huddled away in what used to be Facet Five.

Barren. Desolate. Sterile. Absent of life. _Incapable_ of sustaining life. So reminiscent of the battlefield she fought upon, so many centuries ago. Yet, Garnet’s vision proves otherwise.

She doesn't like this at all. She doesn't like any of it, right up to the moment she spots the little purple gem. Crawling on all fours. Peering at them, from behind a rock. Stretching a little further, her shirt sliding down an inch. The little purple gem nestled at her chest speaking volumes. A faceted tetradecahedron. A quartz.

A spear materializes; gauntlets crystallize. It's so… _small_ , less than _half_ the size of a usual quartz. Overcooked. Regardless, it’s still a quartz. An amethyst, left over from the Rebellion. A Homeworld soldier. A pink glow from beside her reveals Rose’s involvement in the matter. Only, she’s standing in front of them. Facing them. Shielded.

Irritation. She refuses to keep this _thing_ — a runt it may be, blissfully unaware of danger or unhappiness, but what if that changes? Quartzes are killing machines, programmed to destroy, knowing or caring about nothing but neutralizing the opponent. She reminds Rose of this, of their nature. Forgetting the cut of the pink gem standing right in front of her. She tries to reason with her leader; tries to tell her how dangerous this gem can _be_. But Rose insists.

Rose points to herself; points to Garnet; points to the quartz; even gestures to _her_ , oblivious to the flinch that betrays her hurt. All gems, with one thing in common. Unwanted by Homeworld; worthless to Homeworld. She looks again at the tiny quartz— she’s still not sure if this is safe. But she desists; who is she to go against Rose Quartz?

She doesn't pay any mind the quartz; not at first. Even as the thing stares up at her with open admiration, she only has eyes for another. The thing only serves as a sickening reminder that she isn't the only object of Rose’s affection anymore. In some ways, she supposes this quartz is better than the humans. The amethyst wouldn't be something that dies out in a few decades; she was capable of growth in ways that she doubted humans could even conceive, much less apply to themselves.

As much of a blessing as it was, it could also be a curse. The amethyst would outlive humans— by a far degree. The amethyst wouldn't disappear, like she's assured that all the other humans Rose adores will. This amethyst will stick around— long after the human race dies out; long after the Earth doubles, triples, quadruples in age. This is a gem: capable of living for thousands of years; capable of intellectual thought; capable of complex emotion; capable of _love_.

After every battle she’s fought, she won't let it be for naught because of a _defect_.

Months lapse. She finds herself warming up. Curiosity. Rose's own kindness and forgiveness must have had an effect on her; she finds herself minding less and less when the amethyst tags along on missions, or sits on the sidelines to watch her practice her swordsmanship. She doesn't mind at all, even cleaning up after all the "Amethysts" that happen in the temple; cleaning, after all, is one of her fortes. Something about the meticulous act calms her, in ways she hadn't expected after how she was treated on Homeworld. But, she finds herself... _liking_ this new gem that Rose had brought home. She's not so bad, after all; Amethyst brings another perspective to her. Not of innocence, but of optimism; learning to find the good in any situation, see the fun in something that looks so barren of positivity. She learns to _enjoy_ Amethyst's company, looks forward to it. But there’s still a shard buried in her heart, a painful reminder that Rose still isn’t truly, exclusively _hers_. Amethyst may be one thing; she could still be with Rose, even with a new addition to the team of gems. But she’s still revolted at the sight of Rose with all those other humans. She doesn't like it.

Centuries elapse. She's lost count of the number of humans who have courted Rose. No, not just humans. _Men_. Disgusting, filthy creatures, filled with greed. The females she can at least stand; they share some of her interests, if only with a basic understanding. But the men… they elude her. They don't serve any purpose, aside from the organic fluid needed to fertilize a female’s ovum. Another distasteful thing she can't wrap her mind around. The way they _procreate _... She shudders.__

Decades slip by. This time, _this_ human is different. He seems to be the only one so far who understands the gist of song. He calls himself an artist, a “rockstar.” But, surely he knows such harsh sounds aren't music?

It doesn't matter. Rose is fascinated by this man. This one is different. She hates the feeling. She hates the dread rising in her gut, the notion warning her that this man is different.

Once again, she is complete. Vivid, beautiful, strong— but for all the wrong reasons. For jealousy, for despise, for hatred; for _him_. She hates feeling so… disgusting. It doesn't last long; it doesn't need to. She doesn't _want_ it to.

Her message doesn't even get across; despicable as he is, he's stubborn. Unwilling to give in; even to the point where he attempts to recreate what gems create so effortlessly together. The very act deemed impossible for humans to perform: Fusion. Despite her belief, she watches with concern. Hidden.

It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t work. She needn't worry, she tells herself. He'll die, just like the others. Rose will be hers again.

She had hardly a breath’s notice. She _blinked_ , and... and...

War. Fighting. Pain beginning anew. Teeth-gritting agony. But it won't go away, no matter how many times she tries to disperse her form. The War is back, the Rebellion is back; Homeworld has descended upon Earth once again...

No. This is different. The blades are missing. Her chest is barren of weaponry, despite the presence of that familiar burning pain; gone is the sharp sting of razor-edged metal sliding with ease through her torso, the blue-tinged tip emerging victorious on the other side. The ground beneath her hands is dry, brown, hard. The battle-sharpened soldiers are long gone. Shattered; corrupted; the rest altogether missing. The Diamonds have long since released their iron grasp on the Earth. The Rebellion was a success.

The war is over; _long_ over.

But Rose is gone.


End file.
